


Five Mornings in Meredith Palmer's Life

by sophiahelix



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/M, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-13
Updated: 2007-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The therapist she'd seen twice after her first DUI had called her a "functioning alcoholic," which was enough for her to keep on going. Functioning was functioning, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Mornings in Meredith Palmer's Life

**Author's Note:**

> A combination of two long-ago fic requests: Agate wanted fic for a Meredith icon and Chibi_Care gave me the prompt. Bet neither of you guys remember. *g*
> 
> All section quotes from Lucinda Williams's _World Without Tears_.

1\. _wanna get swallowed up in an ocean of love_

Luke didn't wake up, not even when she knocked over a set of barbells while trying to shrug into her denim jacket. He just kept breathing heavily, spread out on his stomach on top of the brown plaid hide-a-bed, the sheet barely covering his ass and his messy blond hair falling over his face. Meredith smiled, tugging her hair into a ponytail with a clip she'd found in the bottom of her bag, and ran her hand over his bare shoulder.

She'd promised herself she was going to stop sleeping with her brother's friends, but Luke was really, _really_ cute, and he had a motorcycle, and anyhow now that she was a senior all the guys at school were way too young. Someone like Luke understood her, or at the very least knew how to do more than fumble helplessly with her bra clasp and puke after drinking a bunch of cheap beer.

It wasn't like _she_ was cheap, she said to herself for the hundredth time as she sat down on the recliner to buckle her sandals. It was just that she liked guys, and guys liked her, and it was fun to go riding on motorcycles or make out in movie projection rooms or watch guys play pickup basketball in the park behind her house, instead of sitting at home painting her nails or whatever other girls did. She was passing her classes, mostly, and she was on the pill, so why worry?

Of course, next time she'd pick a guy who didn't live in his parents' basement, she thought, looking around at the scratched, paneled walls and the dusty filing cabinets shoved against them. And maybe a guy who was working, since paying for everything out of her salary from her supermarket job was getting kind of old. Still, when she finished with her shoes she bent down to kiss his shoulder, because he _was_ cute and he was a much better lay than the sophomore she'd been seeing last month. Maybe she'd even go out with him again, if that fullback in her business math class didn't ask her out by Friday.

Meredith opened the narrow window, tossed her backpack out onto the grass, and squirmed after it. With luck, she'd still have time for a smoke before first period.

 

2\. _the truth has never been the same since those three days_

The ring was nice, she had to admit. Two emeralds on each side, her favorite stone, and the diamond wasn't so big it was tacky, but enough to say something. It kept sparkling as she turned it around and around, throwing tiny rainbows on the card table in her apartment kitchen, where she sat drinking the first cup of decaf coffee she'd had in her life.

And she admitted it was nice that he'd just gone for it right away. She'd called him on Tuesday morning, after agonizing over it since Saturday, and Tuesday night when they met at their regular Italian restaurant he'd pulled out that little black box with no hesitation.

It was nice of him, too, to smile and nod and say he'd wait for her to decide. The little moment of hesitation let her know that he was kind of hurt, but he was sweet that way, just letting her do things the way she wanted. She guessed their relationship wouldn't work otherwise, with her always flying a different schedule these days since the new scheduling manager couldn't find her own ass with both hands and a flashlight, but this was different. She'd always figured if she wasn't married by thirty she never would be, and hey, her birthday was a month away.

It was a nice ring, and he was a nice guy, and she thought he'd be a pretty good dad even if she wasn't sure she'd be such a great mom. She liked her brother's kids, though, and at least Dave made enough money that while she was looking for a new job they'd be OK. It did make her a little sad to think about quitting, but judging by the last few days of hanging over the toilet there was no way she was going to be able to hack even a normal flight, let alone the Denver-DC route she'd been getting lately, and maternity leave had gone down the drain this year along with dental.

Mostly she was going to miss Stacy and Barb, and waking up somewhere different half the time. Watching sunrises over Chicago and Atlanta and Seattle, chatting with the pilots and the passengers, even the little uniforms. Flight attendant school was the best idea she'd ever had, and everyone knew how hard it was to get back in once you quit.

But there was Dave, she thought, turning the ring around again. Dave and the little person that she guessed she'd already decided was coming into her life. Growing up Catholic made you into a certain kind of person, even if she hadn't been to mass since high school, and after a few days she was getting used to the idea.

God, she was going to miss flying, though. If the kid was a girl, she thought, she was going to name her Wendy.

 

3\. _my American dream almost came true_

She crossed three lanes of traffic and ran a red light the first day she took the kids to daycare. Dave grabbed onto the arm of his seat as she swung the van around and raised his eyebrows at her when they pulled into the parking lot, his mouth a hard line.

"A little tight," was all he said, though, and unbuckled his belt so he could get the kids out of their seats.

He carried Wendy on his hip as they walked into the little building painted with silhouettes of paper-doll children. They'd picked the place for a combination of price, convenience, and the somewhat lessened smell of piss and crackers compared to the other places they'd checked out. No fancy teaching philosophy or anything, just decent playground equipment and more than two employees.

Jakie was too little to fuss much, thank god, and he wasn't shy and jumpy like Wendy had been at six months anyhow. Wendy was burying her face in Dave's shoulder now as he signed the sheet, swinging her sandaled feet restlessly and clutching a dangling pink blanket. They still couldn't break her of that thing, and Meredith was starting to worry that it would get lost now that she was taking it out of the house, which meant Wendy would really never sleep again. She barely slept as it was, and Meredith had long since given up and let Dave take over the songs, the glasses of milk, the checking of windows and doors, the endless tucking and retucking of blankets. Jakie still slept in the crib in their bedroom, since the midnight feedings interrupted what little sleep Wendy got. It seemed kind of backwards that Meredith preferred stumbling out of bed at three in the morning to telling stories, but that was how it had shaken out.

She shifted Jakie's carseat to her other hand and swung him up onto the table. It felt weird, like she was leaving a basket of groceries for someone else instead of her kid, and she got that pang again, like she was some kind of monster for leaving them here. But housing prices were too much for Dave's salary to cover alone, and he'd been saying for a year that they couldn't keep throwing money away on rent. So, daycare and a new job for her, after four years at home.

Wendy had been persuaded to hang up her coat on a little hook with her name over it, and Dave hunched down next to her while she dumped out a bin of blocks. A little boy around her age had wandered over, because Wendy at four was already pretty enough that people were always admiring her red pigtails. Meredith felt a weird kind of pride about that, even though it was Dave's big blue eyes that were really going to make Wendy beautiful when she grew up.

Back in the van, Dave buckled up and straightened his tie. She backed out slowly, one hand on his headrest.

"You didn't say goodbye to Wendy," he said.

"You had her. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Sometimes it's OK to make a big deal."

She sighed, shifting her grip on the wheel. It was hard to explain to him how she felt about this, leaving her kids to go work in some strange office doing something she didn't even know how to do. It wasn't like she'd been thrilled with the housewife thing, but she'd gotten used to it.

"I just thought it would be easier on them if we acted like it was normal," she said finally.

"I don't get it," he said. "I thought you were all worried about the new job and leaving them in daycare."

"Yeah, I am."

"So how come you wouldn't even say goodbye to her?"

"I just didn't, OK?" she snapped. "I will tomorrow. That make you happy?"

Dave took that in silence, and when he talked again it was about dinner and changing their insurance coverage now that she had benefits. All their fights ended like this now, him just changing the subject. Sometimes she wished he'd push more, because it was like she could never say what she was really thinking unless she was good and mad, but he wasn't like that.

She dropped him off at work, then got on the freeway to get to her new office. A friend who worked there had hooked her up, which was good because she hadn't been on an interview in ten years, and she was going to need someone to help her figure out what the hell "industrial operations" meant. Pushing paper, she guessed, which was funny considering what the business did. It meant money, though, and maybe if they had enough money she'd stop having these nowhere fights with Dave and be that person she wanted to be, with a nice house and two kids and dinner on the table at six. Work couldn't be any crazier than dealing with her family, at least.

 

4\. _how would scars find skin to etch themselves into?_

The third time she dropped her mascara she gave it up for a lost cause. It wasn't like makeup was going to make any difference to the settlement, since she was pretty sure she was going to get screwed over anyhow. Her fault for going with the same fucking attorney as last time.

She just had to keep reminding herself it wasn't going to go the same way. No custody, none of that horrible stuff with the mediator siding with Dave, and Wendy saying, tears on her face, that she wanted Daddy, she wanted Daddy. The house was hers now, thank god, not that it was anything to be proud of, and Craig didn't really make enough to bother with alimony, not that she really wanted it. Just a couple of papers to sign so she could get a chunk of his union pension up front, her shitty lawyer had told her, and then they'd get that stamp from the judge and she could go back to filing head of household on her taxes again. Simple. Not like last time.

Of course, Craig was going to keep saying they split up way after they really did, so she'd get stuck with half of that credit card debt he'd racked up right after he moved out, and if paying for all the tacky jewelry and streetwalker dresses he'd bought his skank of a girlfriend wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to her it was close, coming right in behind the gambling debts he'd racked up while they were actually living together. It was an impressive fucking amount of damage for just eighteen months.

Not much she could do about it now, so she threw the mascara back in the open drawer and left the bathroom, brushing powder off her green blouse. Jakie was running late for the bus again, so she hollered up the stairs at him as she put a s'mores pop-tart into the toaster. If he didn't come down in the next ten minutes she was going to get stuck driving him to school, which was going to make her late for court, and even though she knew it didn't really matter because they were always running behind, he knew better. The counselor that the school made her take him to said Jakie was just testing her, and that he needed consistency in his life, but some days about the only consistent thing she felt like doing was giving him a kick in the ass.

Three minutes later he came into the kitchen, his hair sticking straight up, the usual cranky squint on his face, and she put the pop-tart on the placemat in front of him when he slouched into his seat. He picked it up but dropped it again right away.

"Fuck!" he said. "It's fucking hot!"

"That's because it just came out of the toaster," she said, rolling her eyes. "And don't say fuck."

"You say fuck."

"I'm a grown-up."

He shook his head, giving up on this line of argument, and broke the pop-tart into a bunch of different pieces to cool off. It got crumbs everywhere, but she didn't say anything, just poured herself some more Sunny-D.

"Can I have some of that?" he asked, reaching across the table. She moved her glass back.

"I'll get you your own glass," she said, getting up. "Eat fast, the bus is coming."

He started stacking up the pieces, shoving them into his mouth. She poured juice into his glass and topped up hers from another bottle.

She handed him the juice and he drank it all in one breath, slurping like she kept telling him not to. When he put the glass down there was a sludge of orange liquid and chocolate crumbs all around his mouth. She pulled a paper towel off the roll lying on the table and reached forward to wipe his face.

"Is Craig ever coming back?" he asked when she finished.

"No," she said. "Except maybe to pick up some stuff."

"He left his air rifle in the garage."

"Yeah, I know," she said.

"Can I have it?"

"No."

"How come Craig moved out?"

She stopped, crumpling the paper towel up in her hand. "I guess we just didn't like each other very much anymore."

"I didn't like him."

"I know."

"I never liked him."

She remembered the one time Craig tried to do something with Jakie, taking him down to the batting cages. Jakie came back with a bloody nose and Craig said something about him getting in a fight with another kid, which was totally possible. Jakie didn't say much, though, and after that she started putting him in after-school daycare. Craig split a month or two later.

"Well," she said. "You don't have to see him anymore."

"Yeah, he's living with that trampy bitch."

"Don't say bitch," she said.

"I can say whatever I want," he shot back, and she could see him getting that look, hard and pissed-off, that meant he'd do the opposite of whatever she said. Dave used to get that look sometimes, near the end.

"Not around here," she started to say, when something yellow and noisy rushed by the kitchen window.

"Shit," they said in unison.

She rolled her eyes again. "Get your backpack and coat."

Jakie played Nintendo in the car, feet up on the scuffed dashboard. There were Spiderman stickers all over his window, which used to piss Craig off, but she always told him he could drive his own fucking car if it bothered him so much. His '85 Mazda had been sitting dead and leaking oil in the driveway since the week he moved in, so that usually shut him up pretty quick. She'd had the car hauled to the dump the day he moved out.

"Mom," Jakie said when they rolled up to school. He was using her first name so often these days that the word sounded weird, like something a baby would say.

"Can – can I come with you?" he asked. "To court?"

She looked out the window at the kids walking to class. Little girls with flowery dresses, boys holding lunchboxes, most of them looking clean and happy, talking and laughing together. She wondered how Wendy was doing in junior high, if Dave knew about buying makeup and sanitary pads and clothes that were in magazines.

"You already missed a lot of school this year," she said. "You're on warning."

"I don't care. I hate this stupid school anyhow."

"Craig's going to be there," she said.

"Maybe I could put gum on his chair."

The last thing her asshole lawyer told her last Friday was that kids couldn't come into the courtroom. " _Don't bring Jakie_ ," he'd repeated, right before he hung up and probably charged her for an hour instead of fifteen minutes.

"OK," she said, starting to smile. It felt like a really long time since she'd smiled. "I'll tell them you have, uh, chicken pox."

"Tell them I have dragon pox."

"Turkey pox."

"Monkey pox."

"You smell like a monkey half the time."

" _You_ smell like monkey shit."

"Don't say shit, Jakie," she said, and put the van in reverse.

 

5\. _when we slept together in the blue behind your eyelids_

It had been a long time since she'd woken up next to someone and remembered his name, she thought, watching Toby sleep with his mouth open. There was a faint buzz in the back of his throat, a hint of a snore, and she could see red-gold stubble all over his cheeks. It was kind of cute, like a fuzzy teddy bear.

For some reason, she always woke up early when she drank, and barely ever had more than a dry mouth and a headache. That was kind of her saving grace, if it could be called that, because otherwise she'd never have made it into work half the time. The therapist she'd seen twice after her first DUI had called her a "functioning alcoholic," which was enough for her to keep on going. Functioning was functioning, right?

Functioning also meant she usually remembered the night before the morning after, and at least this time it wasn't too embarrassing. Toby had been sitting at the bar all night clutching this stuffed yellow duck, after that guy from the warehouse had smashed up the place, and she'd been in that stage of drinking where she wanted to sit next to people and ask them lots of questions and laugh a lot at the answers. By the time she'd hit the next stage, staring into a glass and thinking about bad stuff, her co-workers were gone and it was just her and Toby in the hall where she'd jumped him coming out of the men's room. Even drunk, she was pretty good at knowing when a guy was into her, and he'd done just what she wanted, holding her against the paneled wall with his hips while he kissed her surprisingly well. It had been good enough that she skipped all the staring and moping stuff and just took him home in a cab, his hand up her skirt the whole way.

It had actually been a while since she'd done that, she realized, and tried to remember if she still had an extra toothbrush under the sink. She'd dropped Jake off at Dave's yesterday afternoon, so she wouldn’t have to deal with that little problem, and that just left the breakfast question.

Toby looked like the kind of guy who might want to stay for breakfast, she thought. On the other hand, he might be the kind of guy who'd have his pants on in two seconds not because he was an asshole, but because he had a girlfriend or wife who'd be waiting for him, or some other reason why he was a nice guy who never did this kind of thing and needed to split pronto. Which was really just a different kind of asshole.

She wanted him to stay, she decided, looking at him again. His bare chest and arms looked good, like maybe he'd been working out. When he was sleeping he didn't have the harassed frown that wrinkled up his eyes and forehead and added ten years to his face. They'd gone at it for a while last night and it had been pretty good for the most part. He had a kid, so he couldn't complain about hers. This actually kind of made sense.

It made her pause for a second, thinking of how this could work out in the long run. She wasn't sure she was really ready for another guy who stuck around past breakfast, not after the last couple of guys. They worked together, so it could be even weirder, and she _really_ didn't know if she was ready for anyone at work to get to know her better.

Toby was waking up, though, just as she was looking around at the piles of clothes on the floor and all the crap on the dresser. He yawned, and when he looked at her there was that second of blankness she knew so well. Then his blue eyes focused and she remembered his face last night when she knelt down in front of him, his bare, knobby knees on either side of her head.

"Good morning," he said, licking his lips.

"Morning," she said, reaching up to push her hair back. She hadn't felt this nervous around a guy in years, that fluttery feeling in her chest and gut like she was fifteen again.

"Uh," he said. "You want to get some breakfast?"

She didn't exactly mean to smile, but she did anyhow. "Sure."


End file.
